Stolen Moments
by starryjen
Summary: 2 Parter - Neela and Ray of course, what else would I write share a moment. Fairly bittersweet
1. Chapter 1 Neelas POV

**Disclaimer: I don't own ER, or the characters mentioned within. **Again, I apologise that this isn't an update to Guilt or COC, I'm hoping to get onto that next, but this was eating at me to come out, so here it is. Its a two parter, I did consider a third part, and started to write it, but I think its better without, let you work it out the story behind it without me writing it for you, part 2 will be up later today or tomorrow at the latest. Hope you enjoy, I think its kind of bittersweet, but let me know what you think.

* * *

**Stolen Moments**

He looks so peaceful as he sleeps, his face relaxed, his forehead smooth, the weight lifted from his shoulders. Its not the first time I've noticed, not the first time I've watched him. He's been back six months, six long, exhausting months. I don't think I've ever been as proud as I was that day seeing him walking back to work. It was just over a year since I'd seen him, I remember thinking he looked older, his brow furrowed, his face etched with pain, sorrow, grief, I'm not sure which, maybe it was all three. From my hiding spot I breathed him in, filling my body with the sight of him, the long over due sights and sounds like a drug to me, pumping through my veins, making me feel more alive than I had in months. I've watched him ever since, sneaking a glance, a moment just to luxuriate in his presence; nobody says anything, nobody notices at all.

He rarely left my mind after his accident and while I was recovering I'd find myself wondering how he'd reacted to his injuries, if he was once again rebelling against society with his punk rock music, crazy hair and insolence or if he'd managed to hold onto the maturity that he was growing into. That day, and since, it was clear that the latter was true. He was an older version of the Ray I'd come to love, more serious, the smile less eager to shine, the light not so bright in his eyes. But we all age, and grow more serious as life takes its tolls, how could we not? The new Ray works the holidays, picks up shifts nobody else wants, leaves to sleep and eat and then returns, the ER is his life now, not the nine to five job he once considered it.

I watch as a lock of hair falls across his forehead, only enhancing his boyish charm, and despite telling myself not to, I lean forward and brush it away. He's a light sleeper these days, awake at the first sign that he's needed, but he doesn't stir at my touch, the corner of his mouth turning up the only indication that he's even aware of it. What I wouldn't give to run my fingers through his hair, lower my lips to his, its one of those fantasies that I never grow tired off but it'll never come true, I've had my time and I accept that. The slight smile intrigues me and I wonder what's going through his mind, what he's dreaming of, I wonder if I'm present in his dreams as he always is in mine.

Last week I overhead Greg and Morris teasing him about a woman he was going out with, a statuesque, model like blonde, if they're to be believed - they were never like me, I was the anomaly in his life as he was in mine – dinner and a movie, Italian and action I would guess, he saves the horror for those who appreciate it or those he wants to torture, I'm not sure which it was for me. It was like a knife to the stomach. I spent hours in the ladies restroom, perched on the toilet seat, my legs pulled tight to my chest as the jealousy gnawed away at me, as I let my mind imagine what he was doing, what he was saying, whether he was touching her the way I always wanted him to touch me. I know the jealousy is unjustified, I know I pushed him away, sent him mixed signals, but the pain still made my chest tighten and salt water sting my eyes, and then my cheeks, as it descended.

The day after Morris was ribbing him about his date, something about how successful it must have been as he'd not seen him looking this rough since the first year of his residency, when he'd come in having partied all night. He was right, he was dishevelled, in a sexy sort of way, but when you looked closely his face was grey, his eyes hollow, raw pools of pain, and lines were etched in his skin as if carved into stone. He'd raised those hollow pools to Morris and no more was said, even Archie knew not to go any further when faced with that look. I'm not sure what happened that night, I've not heard any more, but he's not left since then, napping in the break room between shifts, allowing me to spend some more precious moments with him, memories to stow for later.

I'm used to him being around now, I don't think I ever believed he'd be back, but then after his accident, I never thought I'd hear his voice again and then one day I picked up the phone and there he was, and all that pain I'd caused us both seemed to fade away. I hear his voice all the time now, shouting out orders, teasing the nurses, I see his face every day, but the one thing I want the most is to touch him, really touch him, to feel his skin against mine, to smooth out those lines of pain, to make him smile again, but those are things I can't do.

I hear a change in the atmosphere outside the room, an urgency that wasn't there before, and I know that this time with him is about to end, I'll sneak away before he wakes, as he rushes away to repair another broken person, to save another life. One day I'll hear on the grapevine that he's leaving or getting married or some such thing, but until then I'll keep collecting these stolen moments with him, the man I loved for the rest of my life.


	2. Chapter 2 Rays POV

**Disclaimer: I don't own ER.** Having read through this again, I think it probably needs a third part, so I'll work on one and get it up soon. I've also been working on the final part Love Music and Friendship so keep an eye out for that, probably later today. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, and more is always welcome!

* * *

**Stolen Moments - 2**

I feel her brush the hair from my face and for a second I want to reach up and cover her hand with mine, I want to open my eyes and breathe in her beauty but I know she's aware of my every move, and she'll slip out that door before my eyes spring open, allowing only a glimpse of her hair or an edge of a sleeve as she sneaks away. I know because I've tried before, and it never works so for now I'll just lie here, pretending to sleep, content in knowing that she's beside me.

Its six months since I came back, in some respects it feels like I never left, and in others like I never should have returned. It wasn't an easy decision, not by any means, it wasn't the place I'd been before, there were new rules, new procedures, new faces. I knew all that but I still chose to come back. There was no welcome committee when I walked in, no group of people standing at the door to greet me, it was the middle of a shift, Frank, taking a call, raised his eyebrows in greeting, a 'good to see you' from Sam as she rushed past, doctors old and new gathered around the board. I saw her that day, leaning against a wall watching me, her eyes meeting mine as she smiled 'hello'. I never expected to see her, hadn't in my wildest dreams imagined it, but she was there, smiling back at me; I didn't approach her and she didn't come nearer it was enough just to know she was there.

For some reason I never sleep as well at my apartment as I do here, I'm not sure why, I have a feeling that her sneaking into the room as I sleep is a common occurrence, a few snatched moments, and just thinking that she's sitting beside me makes my mind stiller, my body heavier and sleep comes more easily. I wonder if she knows that I used to watch her sleep, that I'd come home and find her curled up on the couch and I'd just perch myself on the coffee table and watch her, I don't think I've ever known anything as calming as watching her sleep. I used to wonder if she dreamt of me the way I dreamt of her. I like that it's her watching me now.

They don't look at me with such pity now, not like they did when I first came back. They didn't understand, how could they when I question my decision every day. I wanted to be at home, to draw strength from that place but my mom's house wasn't home, I'd slept in the room she called mine maybe half a dozen times in as many years before my accident., I couldn't find the comfort that I was searching for there. Home was my apartment, long since gone; County, however sad that is; and her. That's why I came back, I wanted to be at home. But they can't understand that, not when I can't put it into words, and there are still days when I enter a room and it falls silent, conversations that they don't want me to hear, don't think I'm ready to hear, abruptly ending as I open a door. I'm used it to it by now, and, in a way I'm relieved, there are conversations I can't imagine having, subjects that its far too painful to think about, let alone talk about.

I went on a date the other night, not the first since I returned, unlikely to be the last either. A relative of a patient, her instigation not mine. I took her to a little Italian I know near County and then we caught the latest Bruce Willis, mindless entertainment. It was a good night, so good that I invited her back to mine, so good that her lips were soon on mine, my hands tangling in her hair, my eyes shut. That's were it went wrong, when my eyes shut. With my eyes shut the face in front of me was someone else's, with my eyes shut it was someone else's mouth I was tasting, with my eyes shut my hands were tangled in luxurious silky soft chocolate, not cool sleek platinum. As I pulled away, desperate for air, the moan I barely managed to suppress, as reality struck, was someone else's name.

I asked her to leave, I gave her all the usual lines, it wasn't her, it was me, disastrous break up, an exaggeration I know, the lines I'd used at the end of every date I've been on in the last six months. It wasn't her fault that with my eyes closed I saw a different face, heard a difference voice, wanted a different person. It wasn't her fault that she could never be that person. With the door shut and her gone, my semblance of composure slipped away, leaving me back where I'd been so many times in the last year. Broken destroyed.

I find myself wishing I'd never kissed her, because if I didn't know how she felt, how she tasted, surely it would be easier to move on. I sometimes wish I'd never asked her to move in, then I'd never have gotten to know her so well, never fallen in love with her, and maybe then this wouldn't be so painful. I sometimes wish I'd never met her, they say you can't miss what you've never had, I'm not sure that's true, and the only reason I wish for any of these things is so that life would be easier, less painful, but I wouldn't give up those memories for anything. There was a time, after my accident, when I longed to see her, to speak to her, to be near her; I see her everyday now, moments when our eyes meet and time stands still, glances in passing, but I still miss her.

There's shouting in the corridor and I know that in a moment she'll slip away, and I'll go out there and continue my life until the next time. Someday, I think, I'll find the strength to walk away from this hospital, away from the memories and these moments, hell, maybe I'll kiss someone and only see them, but until that time comes I'll take each and every one of these moments with her, the only woman I've ever truly loved, they're what gets me through the day.


End file.
